Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
“I’m not coming to the office. That’ll bring the press to the doorstep of the company.”
“We’re going to get press. We get lots of bad press. Many times and many ways, outside of this situation. Don’t assume our weakness. We have always managed to come out on top just fine.”
“This is different.”
“The difference is that you’re acting like a little bitch, running scared.”
My jaw sets hard. “Don’t push me, Davis.”
“Don’t make me. I say own the fuck out of this. Don’t walk away. Don’t stay away. That makes you, and us, look like there’s something to hide. And we don’t even know if this is an issue yet. There’s no charge. There’s no problem.”
“There’s a fucking assassin on the loose. That’s a problem. They went after my woman. They went after my father. What happens when they go after Grayson? I don’t need him to be on the radar of the wrong people.”
He blanches. “An assassin?”
“Yes, Davis. I don’t have time to give you the details right now, but I need Grayson and Mia out of this.”
“Do I want to know the details?”
“No. Don’t ask.”
A muscle in his jaw tics. He wants to push for more but seems to think better of it, at least for now. “Okay, you had me at assassin. I’ll find a way to get them out of the city without them connecting the dots to you, but that means I need to use the NFL deal to make it happen. You have to step back.”
“Meaning what?”
“If Grayson thinks there’s a targeted meeting for that project, and that he’s handling it for you, he’ll go.”
He’s right. The NFL deal is the only way to get Grayson out of here. “I can make that happen. I’ll make a few calls. You press him to take over. Tell him you think I’m too distracted. Be an asshole. You’re good at it.”
He smirks. “Yes, friend. I’ll be an asshole, just for you.”
Mia joins us then. “Where’s Grayson?”
“Where’s Harper?” I counter.
“She’s grabbing you coffee and—”
“She’s alone?”
“Yes, but—”
“Safety in numbers, Mia,” I say, and I’m already walking. Fuck. I have a bad feeling right now. Why did I let her and Mia go anywhere without protection? Why did I discount an ICU floor as a danger zone? My heart thunders in my ears, numbers pounding at my mind, calculating the odds that Harper is in danger, but the numbers aren’t what sets me off. It’s a gut instinct that tells me she’s in trouble.
I start to jog toward the cafeteria.
Harper
In the seconds after the bearded man steps in front of me, time seems to stand still. Adrenaline pumps through me and fight or flight is nowhere in sight. I want to run. I want to scream. I do neither. I just stand there, my mind racing, and my feet planted on the ground.
Is he here to kill me?
Is he the assassin that put Eric’s father in the hospital?
I force myself to inhale deeply and reach deep to a lesson that my father taught me about calming myself and making rational decisions. I ground myself by focusing on the mundane details around me, rather than my death. The first thought I have is that the cafeteria smells of pizza. The man in front of me like coffee, the way I smell when I sit in a Starbucks for hours to catch up on work. These random observations work, as they always did in my professional life. My pulse steadies. My gaze sharpens on the man.
“Who are you?”
“Let’s sit down and talk,” he replies, and it’s not a question. It’s an order.
Now that he’s spoken again, I’m hyper-focused on him, just him, and I drink in every detail I can. The fine lines by his eyes aging him to early forties. His beard neatly trimmed. His cheekbones high, a scar across the right side of his face. His eyes a teal-blue. He towers over me a good twelve inches. He’s in a black designer leather jacket, wearing black jeans. I don’t know what’s on his feet because I’m not looking down and giving him the chance to come at me. Voices sound to the left, and the tension in my spine eases ever so slightly. He can’t kill me here. And would an assassin walk up to me like this?
No.
That’s illogical.
Isn’t it?
“Who are you and what do you want?” I ask, wishing like hell the coffee cups in my hands didn’t have lids on them.
“Excuse me,” a female voice says to my left. “Do you mind if I grab a napkin?”
I’m standing in front of the condiments and supply area. It’s a good public place to be but I can’t block the path to others using the area. I step slightly to the right, in front of the creamer, giving the woman room to grab her napkin, but I don’t look at her. I’m not leaving our public location. I’m not giving him a chance to grab me.